I remember once, in the car, I saw you picking at a cut on your hand.
What happened? Paper cut. That big? A weird paper cut.
I didn't ask again. Should I have asked again?
Should I have yelled at you for hurting yourself again?
Should I have told you how dumb you are for cutting?
I could not. I'm not allowed to be your mother.

Inside I scream with frustration.
I clamp the steering wheel until I'm white knuckled,
Like the autobahn, I drive fast, too fast,
Trying to drive away from you and that cut.
Did I make you do this? Was I mean to you?
Was it when I gave you that look this morning when you were running late?
If it was, I won't give you that look ever again.
Did this have to do with your dad? He's far away.
Don't worry.
I know we have grown apart, but this far?
How could I not have known that you were doing this again?

Honestly, I can't imagine it. I can't imagine you,
Doing what you do to yourself.
Doesn't it just hurt? Is that what you like?
A pair of elementary school scissors, my Venus razors, a broken heart.
Are you blind? Can't you see what's around you?
Family, friends, pets, love, future, HOPE.
Metal to your flesh will not change that.

Last night I wanted to cry. You were at the mall.
You were trying on dresses for the dance, a chance to have fun.
But, you couldn't find one. Not a single dress to hide the scars.
Cuts from your ankles to your thighs and no dress could cover it.
At least not one you liked. So why do you do it? It's not making anything better.
I cannot fathom your blindness.